Seeker From the Pitt
by Malodium
Summary: Set in post-apocalyptic D.C and Pittsburgh, a young man returns home to find his brother, but instead finds war.


_**Seeker From the Pitt**_

August 5, 2277

Aw, shit. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. Nobody should have to fight like this. Nobody. Well, suck it up, idiot. This is your fault. Force crouched behind a rock, praying to whatever god was watching that the fucking sniper hadn't drawn a bead on him already. His own weapon was an Infiltrator, well kept and often used, but for all intents and purposes useless, as it didn't have the effective range of the sniper rifle his opponent was holding. Instead of firing back, Force was busy sticking a Stimpak in his arm, hissing slightly as the pain in his shoulder flared, then faded somewhat. Tossing the useless needle to the ground, Force pulled the gray rag off his head and wrapped it around his shoulder. It might not be a sling, but it'd have to do.

Force was extremely sensitive to his environment, so when the sniper started to run to a different position, he heard and leapt up. Force didn't bother with his Infiltrator but ran as fast as he could to a cliff wall perhaps twenty meters from the rock he'd previously inhabited. Force laid flat on the ground and pulled the Infiltrator off it's sling. Force slowed his breathing, then looked through the scope of the Infiltrator. He could just see the sniper's head and gun as he scanned the ground, looking for Force. Force grinned fiercely and took careful aim just above the sniper's head. Force kept his breathing slow and even, waiting for nearly a minute before he even touched the trigger.

Force felt his heart accelerate as the scope circled, then slowed, then finally stopped just above the sniper. Force pulled the trigger softly, slowly. Just like he'd been taught. Squeezing off the shot would do nothing but alert the sniper to his position. He'd once been told that sniping at a far target was like making love to a beautiful woman-it was gentle, and it was about her. You didn't beat her up and throw her around, you squeezed just gently and-_fffiiiiiiiittttt!_ The Infiltrator fired a single shot, taking the sniper in the side of the head. Force didn't move a muscle and fired twice more at the writhing sniper. He caught the sniper directly in the chest and in the throat. Gagging blood, the sniper looked to the sky and fell, vomiting blood and breathing his last.

Force didn't move for nearly an hour. He was waiting for the sniper's buddies to show themselves or make a grab for the dead sniper's gear, but nobody showed. Considering how far he'd run from their little camp, he wasn't surprised. The sniper hadn't so much as run after him as followed the trail his bloody shoulder had left on the ground. He'd just been walking when he ended up smack in the midst of a Raider camp. Raiders being Raiders, they'd drawn almost as fast as he had. Almost meant all three had been down in a matter of seconds from silenced bullets and brutal kicks to the throat.

Unfortunately, those three had been just the closest, and of course, seven more were in the immediate vicinity. They had had time to draw and fire. Miraculously, and probably due to the Raider's shock, he'd not been hit once as he dove behind a car for cover. He'd risen up and killed at least one, maybe two of the bastards when one had the presence of mind to hurl a frag grenade in his direction, which had him scrambling for cover. The car had detonated and shredded his vest with rusted metal, and killed a nearby Raider.

Handy, except for at that time exactly was when the sniper hit him in the shoulder. With a broken, bleeding shoulder, he had no way to fire the Infiltrator accurately, and had thus surrendered the field. He'd sprinted straight south, and the dumbfounded Raider's hadn't seen him leave. However, the damn _sniper_ had looked down the range and seen him. The sniper had almost immediately opened fire, and missed. However, the sniper had chased him for nearly a mile, in which time they'd changed direction four times. They'd ended up far in the north, by a small town called Oasis. The cliffs were at once a blessing and a curse, because depending on your position, you could either see or you couldn't. Of course, the sniper had been too much of an amateur to realize this early on, or he would have killed Force easily.

However, he'd been intending to go south. He'd just left the Pitt for the first time in six years, returning to the place of his birth to seek out his brother. His brother had always been a dreamer. He'd wanted to join the Brotherhood of Steel since he'd been six, and for a time, so had Force. However, Force had grown up a slave, because at fourteen, he'd been captured by the Slavers of Paradise Falls. At the time, it had been hell, but if he hadn't gone through it, he'd never have survived the Pitt. To be honest, he'd survived by pure luck. So many who went as slaves died as slaves, but the one opportunity to be free had occurred. In the Pitt, there was an arena, and by winning a series of matches one could earn their freedom. They hadn't been easy.

The Pitt was a shithole, but the arena was completely flooded with radiation. During the matches, barrels filled with nuclear waste were dropped in amongst the gladiators, just to make things more interesting. Force had actually had one fall on him in his first match, and it had nearly cost him his life. However, he'd survived, and not just surviving the matches, he thrived on them. He represented to the slaves a hope for freedom they would never have, but could always dream of. He'd fought seventeen matches in the arena, often against multiple opponents, and had finally been let free by an amazed Ashur. Ashur, the Lord of the Pitt, was a man of _vision_, a man of _passion_, a man of _hope_. He had kept the Pitt together in the last thirty years, since the massive Brotherhood of Steel operation known as the Scourge had happened.

Believe it or not, the Pitt had at the time been even worse, but the Brotherhood had killed everything that even looked wrong, much less been wrong. Anything with the slightest radiation poisoning was gunned down and burned to a crisp. The men they'd left there had grown bored with the nearly empty city almost immediately, and pulled out within two years. It was then that Ashur had surfaced. A former Brother of Steel, he'd been disgusted with how quickly his brothers had given up on a place he believed held such promise. Walking away from the Brotherhood, he'd quickly gathered to him a band of Raiders and Slavers from the surrounding area. Though leery of Ashur at first, they had quickly adopted his cause when they saw how much control of the city he still had. Ashur had thrived.

However, the city had been nearly destroyed by the fighting, and Ashur didn't just want to rebuild, he wanted to _recreate_. A man of intense passion, Ashur had used the slave labor offered by his new friends to begin the construction of Haven. Haven, the capital of the Pitt, was a beautiful place. Full of light, and clean walls. Force had been entranced. However, Haven was just the beginning. Ashur had begun the work on creating a fortified Uptown, which was accomplished in nearly five years. The slaves had then begun to work on Downtown. Downtown had been full of Trogs, dangerously mutated little beasts that were child sized but strong. They used no weapons, but were incredibly fast and astonishingly strong. They had once been human, but the radiation had destroyed their minds, then their bodies. There were now innumerable Trogs living in the Pitt now, but they wouldn't spread out. Crammed up in the Steelyard and the Train Station, they'd turned on each other.

Trogs were more feral and ferocious than any Super Mutant from the Capitol Wastes, though less intelligent. While you could put down one Trog quickly if you had a decent gun or even an axe, the noise would always attract more. They came to noise and food like the pirahna fish of legend came to blood. It was practically impossible to fight the Trogs, since they were everywhere and they were endless. Parties of Raiders and Wildmen who lived in the Steelyard were often assaulted by the Trogs, even if they numbered over a dozen. When Force had first earned his freedom, he was sent with a party of seven Raiders to scout out the Trainyards. He and one other man had made it out alive, and they themselves were battered enough for any four men, much less two.

However, the Trogs were infesting the most valuable area of the Pitt, the Steelyard. Steel from the Pitt was forged into new bullets, and a single ingot could produce nearly a hundred bullets of nearly any gun still made. Over the years, the Steelyard had remained largely untouched, thanks to its residents. So when Force had volunteered for the job, he'd been jeered at and laughed down. However, Force had gone through with it, and had brought back fifty steel ingots on his first trip, as well as a Trog invasion, but that was quickly put down. For his efforts, he'd earned the respect of everyone in the Pitt, from Ashur to the lowest slave.

For Ashur, this had made Force a perfect candidate for a job he'd long needed filled. He needed a seeker, a finder, a collecter. In his time as a slave, Force had become an extremely respected repairman, and was very appreciative of every weapon and every piece of steel. He alone among the residents of the Pitt had a true understanding for the value of steel, and for this, Ashur had tasked him with scouting and retrieving steel from every area of the Pitt, even those that were Trog territory. Force had proven enormously successful, and his standing among the Raiders had greatly increased. 

Force was a perfect example to the slaves of how high one could rise, and it was for this reason that he'd been kept in the Pitt for so long. Ashur had kept him there through various means, from bribery to threats to pleading. However, Ashur had finally allowed him to leave the Pitt and find his brother, on the condition that he bring back any and all ammunition he could find in the Capitol Wasteland. His soldiers were running out of things to shoot from their guns, and ammunition had been at an all time low. However, the Capitol Wastes were chock-full of ammo, and he'd sent word back to Ashur that this place was ripe for the picking. Scattered Raider bands would either be erased or they'd join Ashur. The Super Mutants were no threat, for they lacked a single leader, and thus they were less than united. The Brotherhood, well, that was another reason he was out here, wasn't it? To assess their strengths, their weaknesses, and their numbers.

Force had already been told he'd not be permitted in the Citadel, the major headquarters of the Brotherhood in the outskirts of Washington D.C. Force had already found that the Citadel was in fact the reconstructed shell of the Pentagon. Having had a military family, he was well acquainted with the basic floor plan, and doubted the Brotherhood could have much changed it without it falling over. Thus, he'd have an easier time getting in than anyone else. He'd also heard rumors that there were the new Outcasts, whom he wasn't acquainted with. Apparently, they weren't on a mercy mission, so he'd have to be careful to live.

Enough reminiscing, thought Force. Reflection on the inner self might be well and good, but not in the open Wasteland. This was the one place Force detested above all others in the Wastes. It was completely open, with little cover and no camoflauge. His instincts told him to skirt the openness of the area, to seek high ground, and to stay hidden at all times. However, he'd studied Ashur's maps of the Wastes, and knew he'd lose days, if not a full week, if he didn't go through this area. It might be a pain his mental ass, but he'd cope. If he remembered right, there was a settlement called Megaton smack in the middle of the area. The area itself encompassed the southern part of Maryland and the northern reaches of the D.C. Ruins.

Force grinned to himself. He was enjoying the thought of going toe to toe with one of these Super Mutants. He'd never fought one, but he was sure he could beat it. Hell, if you could survive the Pitt, nothing could kill you unless you let it. Not hunger, not thirst, not bullets, not knives, not missiles. His favorite quote, purportedly from a Knight-Captain of the Brotherhood of Steel, was "Shoot 'em, they die. Stab 'em, they die. Strangle 'em? They die." He'd made that his life's motto, and to his credit, he was as yet still alive. Hopefully he'd stay that way, at least until he'd found his brother.


End file.
